Me love agony, seen?
Me hate baldheads, seen?
Me love collie, seen?
Me hate duppies, seen?
Me love easing up, seen?
Me hate fishes, seen?
Me love *****, seen?
Me hate harbour sharks, seen?
Me love "irie's", seen?
Me hate janga, seen?
Me love kush, seen?
Me hate lagga heads, seen?
Me love mateys, seen?
Me hate nyng'i-nying'i, seen?
Me love o-dokono, seen?
Me hate passa passa, seen?
Me love quashes, seen?
Me hate running belly, seen?
Me love science (witchcraft), seen?
Me hate toto, seen?
Me love uptown goodas, seen?
Me hate vixxin', seen?
Me love wheels, seen?
Me hate da yout, seen?
Me love Zion, seen?

*Me ******' love Zion

I was a game of Janga
In its last writhe.
A structure with no solid base.
I don't know if I was born like that
Or if somewhere along the way I got lost.
I think I always sensed it.
However I was always too busy looking forward
I didn't bother to make sure that I had all of me.
I didn't.
Now memories make me angry
They seem like a picture I don't remember taking
But can imagine why I did.
Decisions I'd made then make me scold myself
Over and over and over.
I wanna stare eleven year old me in the eyes and scream
"NO ONE IS EVER GOING TO LOVE YOU LIKE I WILL, so please, stop searching."
You carry the missing piece.
Stop looking forward and look within you.
I'm 20 years old.
Finally I can see.
I never took the precious time to build my own foundation.
I spent forever wanting someone to build it for me.
But if you want something done right
You've got to do it yourself.
I didn't need a boy to look at me like I'm all the world is capable of creating.
I needed to hold eye contact with my own **** self long enough to say "I love you."

We are a generation
raised by children
raised by children.

Growing up *****.
Maybe that’s why,
we’ve been avoiding it for so long,
and passing down lessons
on how to fake it.

He was seventeen.
His mistakes were still somewhere down the road
he so relentlessly trudged through the heavy weather
after storming out of his father’s house,
eager for independence.
Unsure what that meant.

He is my father -
responsible for all that I knew for sure as stable.
Yet, our table was held up by coasters
and we had a few too many late nights
sitting on milk crates
around a kerosene heater.
Things were never steady enough
to worry about them falling apart.

No one is perfect.
Although, I thought he was,
and he wanted to be
he just didn’t know how.

No one does.

This is the man who signed me up
for an in school group therapy session
in second grade
because it would get me out of class for a half an hour -
good lookin' out, Pops.

I learned from him, that life is about those little things.
There was this rule in his car about not leaving
until a good song is done playing on the radio.
It doesn’t matter what you’re late for
the world can wait.

I also learned from watching him
that life will **** your spirit.
That debt will eat you alive
only if you let it.
If you wait long enough, it’ll go into collections
eventually they will stop calling
and that’s all you really want.

I learned that no matter how bad you have it.
You can always afford to show compassion.
I learned that people will walk all over you.
That doesn’t mean you should stop.

But compassion takes its toll.
Years of chronic depression skewed my view of him.
At fourteen years old I became comfortable with the idea
that I might one day walk in on my dad hanging from a ceiling fan.
My only reassurance
was when he told me
“I won’t **** myself…I’m afraid it would hurt too much.”

I learned that love fades and sometimes stops cold
but that doesn’t mean you should give up on it.
I learned that sometimes there’s a good reason
to suffer through a bad marriage.
But once that reason doesn’t hold true
it’s time to break away, for your own sanity -
even that means breaking a heart in the process.

Then my Mother came back into the picture
slashing through his Achilles’ heel.
Watching my father fall was not an easy thing to see
but this wasn’t just my Mother’s doing
this was years in the making.
This was a poorly built Janga tower.
This was just a matter of time.

My sister told me,
in a rare moment of bonding
on stormy night,
while stuck at a Denny’s,
that she thinks it started
when his best friend died
a whole lifetime ago.

She shared stories about her memories of him
She got to see him play
and laugh because he felt like laughing
and not just to forget he has reasons to cry.
I envy her for that.

To me this was the man he'd always been
but in these weakest moments,
I saw myself.
For the first time in my life,
I truly don't want to be like him.
It hurts to admit that.

A man once said
that once you realize your parents aren’t perfect
you become an adolescent,
when you forgive them, you become an adult,
and when you forgive yourself
you become wise.

I feel no need to forgive my father.
I accept that he is human
and that he didn’t teach me the things he didn’t know.
What I did learn from him are the important things:
the value of compassion,
the pain of regret,
the unconditional love of a parent,
and most importantly
that stability is an expensive illusion
and bad things happen
to those who take theirs for granted.

i know the romance,
and -cing of the stones....
but the ******* fog
               hangs over me...
  like i might be a homosexual
with padre theos as my
counterpart to spread: an idea...
        sooner they die: sooner
the better.............................
                  liam say you're gay
too... come on in extremino?
                 i'm getting musical about
1980s polish pop....
              gotta janga-****-**** that ****
into a poem...
emotional-esque is worth,
for a fox is only worth a ****.. ****
off mate! you better see the word than
see the word... counter pychology, true.
when russians try to integrate
i'm like: ******* want to kije or kite?

There is truth, lies and the in between,
Because somehow there is always some truth in the lies.
Somehow I feel there's lies behind the truth too though,
And yes I know it gives me too, those butterflies.
In between all those lies and truths,
Either way they hurt.
And each pile upon eachother like a Janga game,
Pulling out one by one avoid that feeling of anxiousness, the burning heat.
In between is the truth and lies themselves,
Without one there is never the other.
With one there is always the other like a toxic relationship,
The in between it's always been there and it'll always be here.
And if you read in between the lines,
You'll see it.

My reality is real in every sense of the word.
Imagine getting your heart torn out brutally and sadness filling up every joyful moment. It's like drowning in an ocean of your own thoughts. My bad and dark thoughts pulled up in a flash of guilt. Everything tangled up and wired at high speeds. Agony and sorrow in my mouth. Anxiety in my chest. Panic in my mind. Depression pushing out every good feeling like janga blocks. Mood swings whooshing all over the place. You think you would ever lose your best friend who gave you galaxies to dream in while giving her a realistic point of view. Anger blowing up anything it can every chance it can.